Playtime makes for a Happy George
by YukiSukinomoto
Summary: George has been having trouble getting over the death of Fred... and he needs just a bit of cheering up. So who does he turn to for that cheer? Hermione Granger? Seriously!/ Mostly light humor, may make it into more than a oneshot if I get good feedback


George sat upon the stoop of the shop, staring out at the emptied streets of Diagon Alley. It was night, he had just finished closing the shop, and for the love of Merlin he did not want to go home. He stared at the night sky hanging above him in that broguish, taunting manner. He scoffed and kicked his shoe at the next step down. Unfortunately, that only served to make him lose his balance, just enough to topple over onto his hands and knees.

George let out a groan. Damn. Now skinned kneecaps were to be added to his horrid day.

It had started with a bang - literally. A new product he had been testing exploded in the back room of the shop that morning, almost taking him out with it. He scratched at the side of his head. It had only been more miserable from there on. The new bloke had started today and he was an absolutekly cheery fellow. Cheery to the point of revulsion, of course. George grimaced.

He had to deal with _that_ all day. And the cheeriness only managed to remind George of how much he missed being so carefree. It was so much easier back before Fred...

He couldn't even manage to finish the thought.

He finally pushed himself off of his hands and knees and he started to head down the street, walking to nowhere.

Where he found himself, a good hour or two later, was in front of the book shop. He stared up at the windows above the shop, where a little flat sat. He knew who was up there, wide awake. The lights were on. He shook his head. He could hardly believe that _this _was who he was going to in order to get cheered up.

_It was after the battle. George, weary, sat slumped against the wall of the castle hallway. His mother was still crying, bent over Fred's body with the rest of the family huddled together. He couldn't be around Fred's body anymore. It wasn't right. Nothing was right all of a sudden. His fingers curled tightly so that the nails dug deep into his skin - a feat considering how short his nails were._

_His eyes were clenched shut, but he could feel it as somebody slid down the wall at his side and sat beside his feet. Curiosity got the best of him and he glanced down at the figure beside him. For a second he didn't recognize her, but he breathed out when he realized that it was Hermione. She looked older, and so battleworn and dirtied that he didn't notice it was his little brother's crush._

_She glanced up at him and offered a very weak smile. Her little form was bent over her knees as she hugged them to her chest. "We won," She said meekly._

_"We did." he replied._

_"His life wasn't wasted," She said after a moment of silence that passed between them._

_"It doesn't mean that it was right," He replied coldly. She shrank a little._

_"I know," she whispered. "We all miss him... but I know... I know that we can't even begin to understand how you feel."_

_"You're right. You can't."_

_"But you should know. We'll always be here for you. We can't replace him. But I will be here whenever you need... cheering up." She offered another smile before she stood up and pushed away from the wall. She reached out and her fingers brushed the line of his jaw. "Don't hesitate. If you need help, if you can't stand to let your brother's see __, then you should come to me. You know I won't make fun of you if... you know, you need to cry."_

_"I don't need to cry." George affirmed immediately, straightening up._

_"I'm sure you don't. But if you ever do..." Hermione trailed off and offered another of her painfully quirky smiles before she walked away, towards Harry and Ron._

Was he really this desperate?

He sighed out heavily. Perhaps he was. Head hung low in defeat, he curled his fingers into a fist and knocked on the door, loud enough that the person above could hear him.

"Hello?" he called out, voice raspy.

A little crash sounded from the upstairs apartment and he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs in the back, only to reveal a girl he had thought he would never truly be so happy to see. And yet here he was, goofy grin already back on his face.

To be fair, he had to smile at something like the vision that was her. She was in her pajamas, all owls and polka dots, in the dorkiest style he could imagine (not including a onesie, which, sadly, his father still wore sometimes).

"George?" She asked, rubbing at her eyes. They were bloodshot red, a sign she had been on another reading spree, no doubt. He shook his head.

"Hey, 'Mione." He greeted, and she opened the door for him and stepped aside to let him in.

"It's good to see you. How are you doing at this... late, late hour?"

"I'm faring as well as can be said. How are you and your owl pajamas holding up?"

Hermione blushed and pulled the collar tighter (if that were possible) around her neck. "Just fine, thank you," She puffed out and shut and locked the door behind him.

After locking up tight, she turned to George and quirked a brow at him. "And might I ask just what you're doing here this late at night?" She asked.

"Now, now, isn't the polite thing to do to invite me to a cup of tea?" George tutted his tongue and waggled his finger at her. "'Mione, I'm shocked!"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Would you like some tea?"

George snickered. "Why not?" he smirked at her, making her flush all over again.

"Ohhh, you. I ought to just kick you out on your hindside, I really should."

"And yet you aren't doing that, are you? So I suppose it's safe to say that I'm getting that cup of tea, after all, eh?" His grin was ear-to-ear.

"You're very lucky that I'm in a good mood, George Weasely." Hermione said in warning before she headed to the backstairs and started on up. George followed her, hips swaying in mockery of Hermione's sudden womanly walk. He had never noticed it before but he had to admit, despite the surprise of it, it suited her.

And yet, he couldn't help but make fun of it simply because in other ways, it did not suit her. Not the bookworm Hermione, only the ass-kicking, spell-slinging woman he had seen on the battlefield.

And yet, off the battlefield...

He shook his head. He didn't want to be thinking these thoughts right now. It would only serve to bring him down. And he had come here to be cheered up. Wasn't that what she had promised him?

He grinned at her back and followed diligently up the stairs, and he sat in her little living room while she prepared the tea, being quite quiet and well behaved, if he could say so, himself.

It wasn't going to last.

He stared around at the decor whilst Hermione clanged about in the kitchen, doing Merlin knew what. He had no idea. He had never heard such a ruckus over making a pot of tea. It sounded more like she was fighting a dragon in full-on medeival armor. Clang!

He supressed the chuckle and looked to the side to see a picture of what must have been Mr. and Mrs. Granger. George briefly wondered whatever happened to her parents. He knew what she had to do. But he didn't think there could be a reversal on a memory spell.

She must miss them dearly.

But then, no time for that now! It was time for him to get cheered up, and he wasn't going to go and let something new get him down on top of his own matters.

When Hermione finally emerged from the dragon's lair- er, kitchen, rather - She carried a little tea tray complete with snacks. Ah, he did like to see snacks. He had been spoiled by his mother, after all.

She set the tea tray down, biscuit cookies and all, and poured the tea out into the two little cups she had brought for the two of them. "All right. So why _did _you come here of all places at near midnight, hm?" Hermione asked, brow lifted once again to grace near her hairline. "And don't say something silly like-"

"You promised you could cheer me up if I needed it." George said simply, reaching over and taking a tea cup so that he could bring it to his lips for a good, hardy sip.

"Oh! Oh..." Hermione sobered and sat down on the armchair across from him, suddenly looking like she pitied him above all else. He made a face. "George, I knew it would be hard but... I didn't actually expect you would take me up on my offer, to be honest."

"Weren't you being honest with me, 'Mione?" George jested with a grin, "Just laying it on thick so I could stop feeling bad for the moment?"

"No! Not at all! I was one hundred percent sincere, I just thought your pride would never allow for it."

"Ah, well..." George trailed off and looked at the biscuits before grabbing three and stuffing them into his mouth unceremoniously. "I dintink sueffer" He said through the chunks of cookie.

"What?"

He swallowed as quickly as he was able to and cleared his throat so that he could say it again for her to understand. "I didn't think so either," he corrected himself, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He took another sip to clear out any crumbs left in his mouth and cleared his throat again. It had a tickle.

Hermione blinked at him and sighed as she picked up her own cup for a little swig of leaf juice. "Well, I'm glad that you felt comfortable enough to come to me. So... did you want to.. to talk about it?"

"I... don't think that I'm ready. I was hoping perhaps that you could first try and simply cheer me."

"Cheer you? And how would I go about that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Do you know how to juggle?" His mouth spread into a grin.

Hermione thought she was doing fairly well, considering she had never juggled before. She had to start with just one little ball that George had mysteriously kept in his pocket... but she was up to two and somehow she hadn't dropped one yet. Unfortunately her pace was a very slow one, keeping time dragging.

George watched, more fascinated with the expression on Hermione's face than the actual act of juggling. She was very concentrated.

And then he hit the point of boredom. And he threw another ball her way. "Catch!" he called in too-late warning.

"Eep!" She cried, trying to catch it. She managed to, amazingly, but she had forgotten about the ball in the air and that hit her square on the head. "Ouch..." She groaned and rubbed at the sore spot on her skull. "George!" Hermione yelled.

He just shrugged. "Maybe we should play Exploding Snaps."

"I... I suppose if that would make you feel better..."

Oh how she hated that game.

Exploding Snaps was perhaps the worst game ever invented, though the barbaric wizard's chess came to a close second. Hermione was shaking in fear of another one exploding right in her face… just like the last five had. She was too slow in her reflexes to move in time. She let out a little groan.

This was going to give her a heart attack, she just knew it.

Her shoulders shook as she turned over the next card… and BAM!

That made six. She shook her head and leaned back. "No more, George," She pleaded, staring at him with wounded eyes.

"Oh, come on, 'Mione," George plastered a puppy dog look onto his face that far surpassed her own. She groaned in defeat.

"Ten more minutes…" She said, and then promptly screamed when another exploded near her kneecap.

Hermione was never going to agree to play that ruddy game again. She clenched and unclenched her fists under the table at which they sat, facing each other.

"This is boring," George whined, "This isn't managing to make me feel better at all. In fact, it's making me quite sad." He pouted out his lower lip and quivered it just ever so slightly.

"I don't care, I'm not playing Snaps again with you." She was sure he hexed them. Besides, playing War was fun, she thought.

"It's just some silly cards. They don't even do actual battle!" George exclaimed, slapping a hand on the table in annoyance.

"Of course they don't actually battle, what did you expect?"

"Obviously for them to have a war! Why else would you call this game 'War'? That's misleading!" he whined, fiddling with his thumbs, twiddling them about.

"Well I'm _so_ sorry to disappoint you," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Let's try juggling again. Maybe with knives this time?"

"No!"

Hermione was lucky enough to dodge juggling the knives.

Unfortunately she couldn't find herself saying no to his next request.

And so, instead, she found herself standing in the middle of the room, blindfolded. "Marco," She called out, repressing the groan that beckoned from the bottom of her throat.

"Polo!" Came George's voice from who-knows-where. She turned toward where she thought he was and stumbled forward into what she could only assume was her little coffee table. She hissed out a cuss and bent to hold her knee.

Little did she know, George was sitting comfortably on the couch, flipping through one of her ladies' magazines. He was just using a fun little spell he had picked up to throw his voice… well, throw it and make it run around in circles.

So poor Hermione had been traipsing about the room blinding following a disembodied voice, bumping into furniture and accumulating a mass amount of new bruises.

George flipped to the next page and Hermione stopped, standing still and straight as she looked about in place. "Oh, that's IT George!" She yelled and threw off the blindfold, and then she gasped when she saw that he was seated comfortably in place. "GEORGE!"

"What?" He was all innocence.

Bullshitty innocence.

Hermione growled, and she outright lunged at him, eyes gleaming with the intent to kill.

George, on his part, let out a little yelp and attempted to scramble away. Unfortunately he was nowhere near fast enough.

She straddled him on the couch and whipped up a pillow from beside him and she proceeded to beat him with it. Hard.

"Oh, oh! Come on, Hermione!" George whined, trying to shield himself with his arms crossed over his head. All to no avail. He had no idea before this that a pillow could be so hurtful. Before he thought pillows were all feathers and fun! Well that was ruined for him.

"Never!" She yelled, but he finally chanced a glance at her face. To his surprise, she was grinning.

It was strange. It was almost as if the war had lightened her up. He would never have guessed before that she would be able to have _fun_. Even when she had just been pissed off by the lonely demon himself, she still smiled. And it looked like she _felt_ that smile inside too.

He wished he could still feel it when he smiled.

Shaking off the melancholy thought, he finally dove left and grabbed a pillow for him to defend himself with. "Avast, ye!"

"What, are you a pirate now?" Hermione asked.

Then George outright grinned. "Perfect idea. Let's play pirates!" He grinned and slunk out from under her entirely so that he could climb up onto the arm of the sofa. "I will be the captain, of course!"

"Oh? And what does that make me?" Hermione's brow quirked upwards and she put her hands on her hips, looking a little silly in her position. She pushed herself up off of the couch and paced around the coffee table. "Perhaps I could be Peter Pan."

"Peter What?" George echoed, confused. He had no idea what this bloke had to do with pans. Perhaps he had a thing for them? Odd. Very odd, indeed.

"Peter Pan! Haven't you ever heard of him? It's such a wonderful story!" Hermione nearly whined it out. She _was _a book-nerd after all, but all George could do was scratch his head and shrug.

"Sorry?"

"Well, sit down then because I am going to tell you the story of Peter Pan."

"Oh, come on, 'Mione. I don't want to sit around while you read some silly book aloud…"

"Well it's no silly old book, and you're going to love it."

An hour later found George clinging onto his seat, on the edge of it literally and about to fall off. "Well, did Peter get skewered, or what?" he urged her to continue.

She was holding his newfound interest against him, however, and teased him by shaking her finger. "No, no, didn't you just before say it was boring? So it shouldn't matter if I don't finish, now should it?" She had a wicked grin on her face. Hermione was getting a little more devilish, he noted. He felt almost proud, though he knew it wasn't exactly his doing. He liked to think he had some sort of part in it at least.

"Please, Hermione. Please, would you tell me the end of the story?"

She stopped just in front of him, a little stunned at his polite manners suddenly surfacing. Well that was something she didn't exactly expect from this brutish boy at the moment.

"O-of course," She stammered. "Well, Peter was laying on the deck of the Jolly Roger, beaten and broken, and for once he was afraid. Hook stood over him and advanced, menacing and triumphant. Peter didn't budge. He was sure that he was beaten, and he wasn't looking to fight anymore. He had lost the will. But before Hook could land the final blow, Wendy cried out and threw herself in between Hook and Pan. She was wrenched off but she begged to just be able to give him one last gift: a thimble…"

"Ohh…" George nodded, pulling his pillow to his chest and hunching over it in anticipation.

"The pirates all laughed, saying 'Just like a girl', and Hook permitted her to submit it to Peter. They had no idea… and so she knelt beside Peter Pan, and she gave him her hidden kiss, her thimble. The pirates were shocked, and Peter was shocked out of his misery. The air around them all tingled with energy and suddenly, Peter burst up into the air, giving Wendy just enough time to move out of the way.

Peter crowed his cocky call and called the codfish up to meet him once more in fight. And this time, it was Hook who was in trouble. The Captain, enraged, flew up to meet him and the two fought a battle anew, but Hook was losing…"

Before Hermione could finish, George threw the pillow off of himself and hopped up on the couch once again. "Well, then. Let's finish this fight, Peter Pan," he snarled with a wicked grin.

"Ah… I thought you'd never ask, Captain Hook." She said, grinning as well. She stood from her spot and slid into position, holding an invisible sword. George copied suit and the two proceeded to battle.

Imaginary weapons clanged against each other as the pair hopped around the room, fighting the battle from the book in her little living room. She parried and thrust, and he did the same, and the two finally wound up in the kitchen, of all places, at a standoff. "This is it, Hook, you codfish!" Hermione cried, and she leapt at him.

George, caught off guard, fell back and just managed to avoid hitting his head on the linoleum floor. Hermione was on top of him. "This, uh…" Hermione muttered, staring down at him, a little pink, "This isn't how it happened in the book."

"Oh?" George asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "I bet this didn't happen either."

He didn't know if he just needed the comfort, or if this night had truly changed how he saw her, but he cupped her face with his hands and gently leaned in and kissed her.

Hermione stilled.

But for some reason, she found herself kissing him back…

A/N : I know the kiss was a little out of nowhere but… :D I like how it happened, personally. I've been writing this on and off for a couple of days now. Let me know what you think and if you really like it, I'm going to make a whole fic out of it instead of just a one-shot. Please leave comments and review! : ) PS, for some reason it won't let me put in my breaks on the edit document page so I'm sorry if it isn't formatted very well.


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